


Up in Dust

by haveyouevereverfeltlikethis



Series: Daemon AUs [2]
Category: His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman, Star Trek: Alternate Original Series (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Daemons, Daemons, Gen, and, because im a piece of shit, this is basically drabble but i love daemon aus so yolo, unedited
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-01
Updated: 2016-05-01
Packaged: 2018-06-05 16:54:20
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,070
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6713185
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/haveyouevereverfeltlikethis/pseuds/haveyouevereverfeltlikethis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Jim could remember the days 'before' with great clarity—as if someone had recorded it all and put it in his head for him to replay. He could remember how whole it felt to have her by his side every hour of the day, to run through the fields surrounding the house, to push the limits of what they could do and keep going.<br/>But that was before Tarsus IV</p>
            </blockquote>





	Up in Dust

Jim could remember the days _before_ with great clarity—as if someone had recorded it all and put it in his head for him to replay. He could remember how _whole_ it felt to have her by his side every hour the day, to run through the fields surrounding the house, to push to limits of what they could do _and keep going_.

But that was _Before_.

* * *

 

He never got to see his Daemon settle. She had been named after his grandmother- Augustine, a name that she despised as much as he hated James. He could still remember the exasperated look his brother had given him when they’d decided to name her Tino—but of course Sam didn’t understand, his own daemon had been named Lila, no one would laugh at that name.

(Idly, he’d wondered what Lila had settled as. Sam left him in the dusty fields in Iowa before he got to see her settle)

Before Frank, during days when their primary guardian was Grandpa Tiberius (Ma was always away with work, she needed the ‘Fleet more than she needed to see her own children grow up), Tino preferred the smaller forms. Birds, bugs, spiders, and snakes of all kinds. Tiberius would laugh, his own aging puma daemon beside him, and tell him that she’d probably settle large, not small. Kirks had a history of that—big animals, the kind that makes a person stop and stare.

George Kirk's had been a lion, or so he was told. His mother didn’t speak of his father often, and when she did it was with a fond ‘you look so much like him’ that hurt more than her absences ever did. Her daemon, Cato, would tell him though. He was a grizzly bear, meters tall and looked like a shadow in the wrong light.

(He’d hear, when he joined the academy, that people called his mother the Grizzly Engineer. Everyone knew her for her name and prowess, but everyone knew Cato because he was more often than not the largest in the room).

“She was beautiful,” his mother would ignore the conversations Cato had with Jim, too busy with work to notice what her other half was doing, “a coat like spun gold, like George’s hair…”

When Tiberius died and Frank came Tino took the Kirk legacy to heart. Frank, his mother’s eldest brother, was an engineer at the docks. His Daemon was a black scorpion that was dwarfed by its human half. When Frank first started drinking and Jim first started acting out Tino took the larger forms, puma, panther, and mountain lion. Usually it was enough to keep Frank away.

Usually.

Sometimes it wouldn’t be enough, but both Jim and Sam would grit their teeth and bear it (their mother was quadrants away more often than not, out of reach of even subspace transmission. They knew Winona needed space to heal her, she didn’t need to know what her brother was doing).

Jim had always been an unassuming boy before Frank—high grades, low voice, following in his brothers trail and the whispers of ‘that’s Kirks boy’. But after Frank and Tino's sudden need to be large it kept others away, and Jim acted out—violence, mostly. Eventually though Sam left (Lila had been a deer that day, he remembered, and she had whispered a passing goodbye even though his brother hadn’t).

And then Jim drove the car off the cliff and well…..that was all before.

* * *

 

After, if anyone asked, he said he didn’t have a daemon.

Everyone in town of course knew that was a lie. The Kirk boy was sent off planet, and when he returned his daemon was nowhere in sight. His mother knew the truth—and maybe she knew how it hurt to lose something that important. She cancelled her rotations of ships and took over the ship yard, was home every-night for dinner (even if Jim wasn’t) and was always there to bail him out of the sheriffs cells when needed.

When Winona had seen him walk off the shuttle without a Daemon she had known. She had embraced him for the first time in years and whispered meaningless apologies in his ear (she was the one who sent him there, but he didn’t hate her any more than he did before). Cato stayed close to Jim, as if he could fill the empty gap by his side (he couldn’t). Sometime he’d still hear Tinos voice in his ear when he was about to do something reckless or stupid, but then he’d feel the emptiness in his chest and remember _she’s gone._

So he turned to violence and alcohol and the occasional outlawed drug. He graduated three years early just to get it done, and then he spent the rest of his days around town on his bike. He did occasional work at the docks, as a mechanic, or shifting stock to earn money to buy some drinks. He fucked his way through every new load of Cadets that came through every year on their way to San Fran and sometimes, he could almost forget that he was missing half his soul.

The night he met the lovely mysterious Uhura and her equally mysterious hummingbird daemon rated pretty high on his ‘worst nights of my life’ scale. Bloody, a probable cracked orbital bone, more than a little drunk, he sat across from Pike and his Pelican daemon.

“So where if she?”

“Who?” Jim snorted blood and grimaced as he gestured for another drink.

Pike raised an eyebrow, “your daemon. She should have settled by now, and knowing the Kirks…” yeah, everyone thinks they know the Kirks because they read the puff piece newspapers published every Kelvin Day.

“Don’t have one,” the drink he had in his hand wasn’t strong enough for this conversation.

The Pelican said something to Pike that he couldn’t hear, “you’re witch then, is that it?”

“No, just wasn’t born with one. Early birth, massive explosion that followed? You know,”

“I don’t,” Pike lent forward, “but I’m not here to talk about that. I looked up your records while you were drooling on the floor. Do you like being the only genius level repeat offender in the Midwest?”

Jim knew his teeth were stained in blood when he smiled, “maybe I love it.”

* * *

 

The man on the shuttle (McCoy, if he remembers right) couldn’t give two shits about Jim’s lack of a daemon. He sits down with his own and begins cursing out space with a ferocity that Jim can admire. They hand a flask back and forth the whole trip, the daemon in his lap curled into a tight ball, ignoring Jim, even when McCoy vomits on him.

“See you ‘round, kid,” McCoy says when the shuttle rides over, “sorry for vomiting on you. Use some baking soda, it’ll get it right out.”

And then he’s gone in the crowd of red cadets heading for Medical registration. Jim heads with the command kids, surprised to find Pike had done his entry-paper work last night, save one section.

“And your daemon?” the doctor asked (Jim hates doctors, he hates the smell and their condescending voices and appearances).

“Don’t have one,”

The doctor gives him a disbelieving look.

“No really, just me myself and I,” the cocksure grin he gives twitches around the corner.

“Is it possible you have some unidentified alien ancestors?”

Humans are the only ones with Daemons. It usually takes alien blood parentage to kill whatever _creates_ the daemons. That’s why human’s rarely inter-breed. To see someone who looks human without a daemon…it’s like looking at a mirage, according to Cato. A human can tell straight away if you have mixed parentage. If you have no daemon and don’t set a humans teeth on edge, then congratulations, you’re mixed race! Cato had explained that looking at him was unnerving sometimes, it looked like he was missing _something,_ and it set teeth on edge. Other people had commented on it as well, lovers and enemies, and he’d laughed them off.

Humans without daemons were unheard of. If you didn’t have a daemon, you were dead. You die? Your daemon dies. Daemon dies? You die. Humans without daemons _just didn’t happen_.

“Nope,”

The doctor rubbed the bridge of his nose, “if this is a joke then it’s not appreciated, Cadet. All Starfleet personal _must_ list their settled daemon form.”

“I don’t have one,”

The doctor lets him go after finally deciding Jim wasn’t going to tell him (“I’ll be informing the head of cadets” he threatened.)

His roommate, Gary Mitchell, had a dog—a German Shepard or something that Jim couldn’t care to label. She was called Samantha, and she wouldn’t get in his way, he promised.

“Jim Kirk,” he saw Mitchells eyes widen. Outside of Starfleet people hardly gave two-shits about the Kirks apart from on the Kelvin Memorial Day. But in the ‘Fleet? Everyone knew George Kirk, he was in textbooks and memorialised in recruiting posters and memorials, “yes, as in George Kirk. Will that be a problem?”

“’Course not,” Gary peered behind Jim, “where’s your daemon?”

“Don’t have one,” dumping his given uniforms on the bed he repeated again, “that going to be a problem?”

Gary didn’t answer that time.

* * *

 

Jim flourishes, despite everything. He’s acing his classes, already the assistant advanced hand-to-hand coach and has somehow managed to cozy up to McCoy (he calls him Bones, because it irks the man). Velma, his somewhat uppity Badger, laughs at the name while the doctor mumbles under his breath about it.

They share drinks and more often than not Jim crashes in Bones’ suite (he already had his medical license, he found out. So he housed with resident doctors so he could do rounds in place of the medical courses he’d be doing if he didn’t have his license). Bones asked only once where his daemon was, and upon hearing the response he’d rolled his eyes and muttered under his breath again.

Jim was surprised by how much he _liked_ it all. The classes with McCoy, the ‘studying’ in the library trying to get Uhura’s first name out of her, and the _other_ ‘study’ sessions with the flirtatious Gaila. Gaila wasn’t human, she couldn’t care less if he didn’t have a daemon (apparently she hated having daemons in the room when she fucked. She said it was unnerving).

Other people cared though.

Word spread quickly about him; the prodigy son of Captain George Kirk and the Grizzly Engineer, a sexual fiend, and daemonless. The main theory circling was that he _did_ have a daemon, but because his parents had such fearsome ones he kept his tiny daemon hidden out of shame.

Yeah right.

It’s all fine until Pike pulls him out of Modern Federation History in his second year.

“You’re not taking this class this semester. It’s been removed from your timetable,”

Jim raised an eyebrow, “you think that I can’t handle it?”

It’ll cover the Kelvin, but Jim’s listened to all the recordings, read all the dissertation and reports.  Nothing would cause him to be emotionally fucked. But Pike gives him a flat look as he slid his PADD over.

“It’s the syllabus,” alright, Jim flicked through it, and it didn’t take him long to figure out why Pike had given it to him. He must have paled or shown some outward sign because Pike let out a lengthy sigh, “they include it to show that the Federation does make mistakes—it’s a debate topic, primarily.”

His chest felt like there was a rubber band around it, “a debate topic?” he managed to wheeze out.

“Ethics,” Pike is giving him a look that he can’t be bothered to translate, “and to supplement previous education concerning…..prolonged daemon separation.”

The band was getting tighter and the room was getting hotter, “when did you know?”

“I looked into your file. From the age of eleven to fourteen was closed with access needed at a level far above my head,” a pause, “no one else knows, I promise. I only had access to your files because I’m your student advisor.”

“I-“ he placed the PADD down, “-I need some air.”

He was too aware of the gaping hole in his chest where Tino should be. Too aware of Pikes Pelican on its perch in the corner. He’d gotten through the past ten years by not thinking about it—the pain, the feeling of his fingers against the glass of the chamber, of Tino banging against the glass on the other side with every ounce of power she had.

“-Jim,” when had Pike moved in front of him? The man’s hand was on his knee, squeezing hard, “Jim, its okay. You’re alright.”

He wasn’t alright. How could he be alright? Tarsus IV, to public knowledge was caused by gross oversight into Kodos’ true motives. The famine had been a ploy, an excuse, everyone knew that. It was an excuse to kill the elderly with aging demons and the young people with daemons that wouldn’t settle for years. Those of alien decent were killed first. Jim had survived, barely, he had been on the list to be killed.

Maybe it would had been better to be killed, rather than to starve daily for months, while stories of separation spread through the remaining colonists. He’d hidden in the hills with others, like Kevin, little Ritchie and Rebecca. He’d though the stories of separation were rumours, until Ritchie was taken by Kodos during a supply mission gone wrong. His daemon had returned, but he hadn’t.

Ritchie’s daemon died in the form of a rabbit, in Jim’s hands, and he could still remember the feeling of the golden dust across his palms. Humans couldn’t separate like witches, not as easily, not without death or mental shutdown. Kodos learnt that as well—so he tried something different. Something not mentioned in the books that covered the massacre.

Intercision, something that the Roman Catholic Church did _centuries_ ago,  in the years before World  War Three.

“Kirk! Breath!”

When had he stopped breathing? He drew in a rattling breath, his hands clenched into fists as he tried to do that simple thing. It took a while but he remembered how to do it properly, but that concerned crinkle never disappeared from between Pikes eyes.

“You’re excused from the rest of your classes,” he said gently, “you’ll still get the credits for the course, but you won’t do it. I won’t put you through that, son.”

He could only manage a nod.

* * *

 

That night he got drunk in his dorm. Mitchel came in, took one look at the room (he may have flipped is desk, he couldn’t exactly remember) and mumbled something about the library. Jim had drunk and drunk, until he found the strength to pull out his holo-viewer. The images he had of Tino were few and far between, but there was one he liked. Of Sam, Tiberius and himself outside a fare for Sam’s birthday. They’d sent the photo to his mother, and he’d kept a copy for himself. Old Grandpa Ti with his Puma sitting beside him, Sam with Lila looming behind him as a moose, and little Tino wrapped Jims waving arm as a black pit viper.

He didn’t cry. He didn’t know what happened to Tino. Jim was one of the five to go through intercession—the only one to survive. Every other daemon had died the moment the blade hit the bottom, in a puff of golden dust that made Jims stomach turn to think about. But not Jim.

He’d survived.

Kodos hadn’t known why—he hadn’t had a chance to figure out. Jim had passed out after it happened, his chest empty and his mind blank. He’d woken up on the _USS APOLLO_ with no daemon and an empty spot in his chest. The days after that had been a drug filled haze, he remembered crying for Tino, but not much else.

Intercision, a doctor had told him, was unheard of. He was an anomaly, and all things considered it was most likely Tino had died in a fire set off by Kodos once he was discovered—the intercession most likely saved his life.

He’d punched the doctor. It hadn’t made him feel better.

Speaking of doctors.

Gary must have comm’d McCoy, because he’s banging on the door. Jim considered not letting McCoy in, but then he remembered to late that Bones knew the access code. The doctor sidled in, looking ready to tear into Jim, but he stopped in his tracks.

“Jesus, kid,” his friend sat down, Velma staying a polite distance away, “what did Pike say to you?”

Jim chooses to take a swig of whatever he was drinking (rum, maybe, he didn’t know) in place of an answer. Bones looked down at the PADD, and Jim was too slow to close the display.

“You do have a daemon,” the doctor finally breathed, sounding like he was torn between anger and confusion.

“ _Had_ ,” Velma wanders closer.

“Intercision,” is all Jim was manage to say before he chokes down his tear with more rum.

“Crap, kid,”

Sometime during the night he must have managed to choke out his story because in the morning he wakes up with bones out cold on Mitchell’s bed and Velma so close to Jim that they almost touch.

* * *

 

After Nero happens and half of his graduating class dies no one has time to care for his lack of a daemon. He’s promoted to captain and shipped out as soon as the Enterprise is ready. Spock—the half human who he used to despise—by his side. And for a while it’s nice aboard the ship.

Sulu’s daemon flies around the bridge, landing on various stations just to observe (she’s a dragonfly, people used to laugh at Sulu when he said it represented martial success while in high school, or so he said). They talk and train and become friends fast, and Sulu never once asks about his daemon (Uhura informs him in many older cultures its taboo—Japan is one apparently, and Sulu had a very traditional grandmother.)

Chekov’s hedgehog wanders around the bridge, getting underfoot. She’s a cute little thing and if it wasn’t taboo Jim would be picking her up often (of all the alpha shift daemons he liked her best, she could tell incredibly dirty Russian jokes that made even Jim red around the ears). Scotty had Willow (“a firefly, thank you very much, it can be manly” according to the Scotsman), and Uhura had her little hummingbird.

Jim couldn’t say he didn’t feel left out. But Spock didn’t have a daemon, and it didn’t seem to bother the man. If anything it was one of the few things that put them on even footing.

It did make things easier, however—missions, meetings, work in the Jefferies. He didn’t say this out loud, but part of him picked up on the idea that Bones did. Velma always stood closer to Jim whenever he was in a dump, and Bones would pointedly look away when it happened.

* * *

 

Khan happens when everything seems fine.

Pike dies and his daemon follows in a puff of dust that reminds Jim too much of Ritchie.

Khan doesn’t have a daemon. He, like Jim, apparently underwent Intercision. He hears some of the crew muttering how horrible and barbaric that is, how they’re glad no-one does it in this day and age anymore.

Jim stiffens his upper lip and deals with it, until he dies.

The glass in the chamber had reminded him of Kodos’ Intercision machine, and even with Spock on the other side of the glass _crying_ all he can see is Tino. But when he’s dead he doesn’t see Tino, he see’s nothing. One moment he’s dying and the next he’s awake.

He wished he’d seen Tino.

* * *

 

Three months into the 5 year mission they’re ordered to shuttle some higher ups to a new colony for evaluation. Among them is his mother—she’s aged well, still standing tall with strong shoulders and keen eyes. They haven’t talked much, his birthday is the only sure day that they’ll speak. It’s not that they hate each other, it’s just that she hurt Jim too much in his childhood and he hurt her to much when he was a teenager. She’d been there during coma, for the three days she could spare before she was called away for damage control. They’d comm’d afterwards, short messages about their respective health and missions, nothing extravagant.

That’s why it’s a surprise when Cato embraces’ him the moment he’s off the transporter pad. Some of the security stationed jump for their phasers at the sight of their captain being embraced by a giant bear. Its odd—he’s never touched Cato in his life, and now the bear was hugging him instead of his mother.

Of course word spreads fast. He hears crew member muttering about how nice it is that the captain is close enough to his mother to embrace her daemon. There’s also talk of the Kirks history of daemons itself.

“His mother has a bear and his father had a lioness, it just doesn’t make sense that he doesn’t have one,” he’s walking the hall with Uhura when he hears it, and stops dead. The two communication ensigns haven’t spotted the pair yet.

“I heard that he was separated when he was born, that’s why he hurts to look at,” the other muttered.

“Ensigns!” Uhura’s voice is barely a shout but it silences the hall. The two turn beat red and turn to her, snapping to attention as they realise that the subject of their gossip was right there.

“Captain,” they say in unison.

“Gossiping, let alone about a superior officer, is not permitted on shift,” Uhura crosses her arms, “and to talk about someone’s daemon or lack-thereof so openly is disgustingly unbecoming of officers such as yourselves.”

Their daemons, a cat and a small insect of some kind, hide behind their humans. Uhura’s hummingbird is surprisingly still as she speaks.

“Report to your shift organiser immediately and expect to hear from me by the end of Beta,”

Everyone in the vicinity scatters like the devil themselves is on their heels.

“You didn’t have to do that,” Jim said as they begun to walk again, “I’m used to that kind of talk.”

“I wanted to do that,” Uhura flicked her hair over her shoulder as if it was no big deal, “no one should be subject to that kind of talk.”

“Awe, you do care,” he punched her lightly in the shoulder while she rolled her eyes.

“Have you heard of the armoured bears before?” she said finally as they reached the mess, standing off to the side so people could still enter.

“I think Cato mentioned them in passing, why?”

Uhura held her bright daemon in her hands, “it’s said that the polar bears were jealous of humans and their daemons. So they forged armour for themselves out of sky metal piece by piece until they had a full set, and that became their own soul manifestation.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, “I’m sure this story has a moral somewhere.”

“You can make your own daemon, Jim,” Olujimi spoke for the first time directly to Jim, his little beak barely moving, “this ship is your armour, it’s your soul.”

“Yeah, I guess it is,”

* * *

* * *

 

“Captain on ze bridge!” Chekov called, blushing slightly as said captain had to avoid tripping over the scurrying hedgehog.

“Mornin’,” he raised his coffee cup in welcome as he sat down in his chair, “everyone report in.”

“We’re maintaining normal orbit, captain,” Sulu supplied breezily.

“I have collected all the needed data samples, Captain,” Spock reported.

“We’ve got a new mission coming in from Command,” Uhura reported from her station.

“Fire away,”

“We are to report to Tarsus IV-“ Jim choked on his coffee, spluttering hard and blushing as the bridge turned to look at him with concern (or a raised eyebrow in Spock’s case), “-and reassess the former Governor Kodos’ files pertaining…” her voice dipped for a moment “…forced separation as the copied data files were lost during the Harrison incident.”

 _Breathe_ , god that sounded like Tino. Uhura hadn’t finished yet however.

“We are to then report to Planet Q and escort Anton Karidian to Starbase nineteen where he will be transferred to Earth to stand trial for….genocide and unlawful experimentation as…..” the bridge by now was deadly silent, “Kodos.”

“Priority level?” Jim managed to choke out.

“One,” Uhura’s voice sounded like it was coming through a tunnel, “according to chatter Starfleet as already told Federation media that Kodos will be standing trial—no confidentiality clauses apply.”

“But…didn’t he die?” Chekov peered over his shoulder at the Captain.

“Negative,” Spock spoke for Jim, “he was presumed dead, however no DNA test of the victims of the explosion was ever undertaken successfully, as such his status was unknown.”

Everyone’s daemons were shifting uneasily at the tension.

“Shall I open a channel?”

It was Jim’s personal rule to announce the daily missions and agenda to the crew; to lift moral and make him more than just a faceless captain. Nodding his head he swallowed thickly, acutely aware at the odd look Spock was giving him from the science station.

“Good morning everyone,” Jim smiled at the display screen, and it looked fake even him, “we have just received our new mission parameters from Command. We’re stopping by Tarsus IV to collect some data before moving to Planet Q for prisoner transport. Former Governor Kodos-“god, his voice was catching in his throat, “-has been found and is to stand trial on Earth for his crimes against the Federation. If you have any personal connection to the Tarsus IV massacre that may cause you emotional distress during the duration of this mission please, do not hesitate to visit the ships councillor.”

Jim glanced down at his console to gather himself, “we’ll be reaching Tarsus IV in-“he glanced down again “-four hours. Kirk out.”

The screen cut out and Jim stood, “I need to change my shirt-" his spluttering had stained it with coffee, “-Spock you have the conn.”

“If I may, Captain, I have something I must discuss with you,”

“Fine, Sulu you have conn. Warm up the core to warp one before punching it to seven, alert the brig to prepare for transport and alert the ships councillor,” was all he said before entering the turbolift, Spock by his side.

“Just say it, Spock,” Jim huffed as they began to move.

“You were on Tarsus IV,” there was a note to Spock’s voice that almost sounded like concern.

“I was,”

“This is not matter of public knowledge?”

“Gag orders from Command—unless needed for a mission I am not to disclose my connection to the incident,” he recited by heart, “they probably gave us this transport because it’ll be a chance for me to positively ID him for the courts.”

“If you wish to relieve-“

“I’m fine, Spock,” Jim ground out between clenched teeth as walked towards his quarters.

“I will trust your word, even if your definition of fine does not match accepted definitions,” a clear ‘I don’t believe you’ if he ever saw one, “however, if you wish, I will replace your shifts so that you may visit the surface to ‘pay your respects’ as humans say.”

“Thanks, Spock,”

The Vulcan lingered for a moment before asking in an uncannily soft voice, “what was her name?”

“Augustine,” he couldn’t help but laugh, “We both agreed it was horrible, so we decided on Tino.”

“My Vulcan heritage may have disqualified me from a daemon, but my mother spoke often of the strength of the bond that occurs,” Spock inclined his head, “I grieve with thee.”

* * *

 

Tarsus is just as he remembers it. Dry, cracked dirt and thin wiry plants are the only thing that grows. From his beam point he can see the ruins of the city in the distance and light of the retrieval crew as they beamed in. To the other side of him is the beginning slops of the mountain, the foot-trails they used to use long gone, but he knows it like the back of his hands.

Farms are scattered in the surrounding areas, with broken houses and ruined fences. He knows on the other side of the dilapidated town is the house he grew to consider home. His father’s sister had housed him with her two sons and husband. Tino had loved to run the open fields as a sheep-dog, rounding up the cattle with joyous laughter by Jim followed behind on a bike.

Hiking the mountains he stopped when he saw the marker they’d made for Richie, even with no body. Pausing a moment to duck his head in respect he carried on, stopping at the entrance of the cave that had been his sanctuary.

“I’m sorry,”

He’d collected fourteen kids and their daemons. They’d eaten what scraps they could and drunk what little clean water they could find. Four had died from starvation, two from Kodos, and nine had survived. Jim wondered what had happened to them, after he’d been separated. The ‘Fleet had told him when he’d been commissioned what he could and couldn’t say.

“Stick with the no daemon story,” Pike had said before he’d shipped out for the first time, “Starfleet wants this kept under-wraps.”

“It’ll come out eventually,” things like this always did.

Pike had nodded, “better that Starfleet be the one to drop the bombshell.”

It hit Jim then that Starfleet was probably going to let the cat out of the bag at the trial. Kodos was a goner anyway, but the massacre happened years ago. Jim knew time healed some wounds, maybe public sympathy. If people found out that the hero of the Federation, son of George Kirk, had been put through Kodos torture then it would ignite the fire, bring public rage.

It’d be a win for Starfleet to have him put away.

He doubted he’d have a choice in the matter. He’d get questioned on all fronts by people who’d thought he’d been separated, scientists would ask questions, dust experts would flood his inbox with letters. Scrubbing the palm of his hand into his eyes he tried to rid those thoughts. No doubt if he asked Spock he’d be able to find legal precedence for him not to testify.

But didn’t he owe it to everyone that died to let the public know the atrocities that happened?

“Spock to Kirk,”

Jim snapped out of his reverie and scrambled for his communicator, “Kirk here.”

“We have located the files and are prepared for removal from orbit,”

“Copy that, returning to beam site now. Give me five,”

Giving one last look into the cave he made his way down to the original site.

“Ready for beaming,” he comm’d

 _“JIM!”_ turning on the spot he barely noticed the short acknowledgement of ‘energising’. For a moment he thought he heard her, clear as the day he lost her, but the lights surrounded him. He landed on the pad, still looking over his shoulder towards where the town would have been.

“Captain?” the ensign on transporter duty asked in confusion, “is everything alright?”

“I thought I heard something,” he mumbled weakly before smiling, “must’ve been the wind.”

* * *

 

“Prisoner secure, Captain. Awaiting approval for beam,” Giotto’s voice came through his comm.

Velma was circling between his legs, comforting him in a way Bones wouldn’t outright do, “initiating beam.”

“You don’t have to be here for this,” Bones muttered under his breath as Scotty prepared to beam.

“Neither do you,” he retorted and winced as Velma bit into his Achilles, “jeez. I don’t want him to think he’s got the best of me, okay?”

Bones sighed in a clearly disapproving way. It was too late as the pad energised. Giotto and his crew of four security men were spread out evenly, while in the centre was Kodos. He still had those cold eyes that focused on Jim like lasers. His own cat daemon mimicked the look. He looked at Jim like he always had—like a son. Jim had been too advanced for the classes on Tarsus, so he’d supplemented his educated with language lessons from Hoshi Sato and office experience with Kodos. The man had given him books, listened to his stories in a way his mother never had, encouraging his learning.

He’d even given Jim that same fatherly look when he’d separated Tino.

“It’s for the greater good,” he had said.

Velma bit his leg again, dragging him to the present, “good work, Mr Giotto,” Jim stepped aside so that they could exit the pad, “take him down to the brig. No-one apart from the scheduled guards are permitted on that level.”

“Aye, sir,” Cupcake nodded as he passed.

“Thomas gives his greetings,” Kodos still spoke with a British accent that Jim wasn’t convinced was real. Giotto pushed him forward with his phaser, looking at Kirk with badly hidden confusion. Jim kept his expression flat, hands in fists behind his back and he tried to steady his breathing.

Scotty stood up, “well he’s a sly sounding bastard, if you pardon me saying that Cap’n,” it wasn’t Scotty who spoke, but rather his daemon who was flying around out of reach.

“I welcome you saying it,” Jim turned to a computer console before excusing Scotty back to his station, “computer, find Thomas Leighton.”

Bones leant against the wall next to console.

“Thomas Leighton currently resides on Planet Q,” the monotone voice reported.

“Status?”

“Alive,”

Jim let out a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding, “Tommy must’ve handed him over.”

McCoy grunted to show he was listening, “he know you’re up here?”

“Probably, he was always smart,” Jim shrugged, “called myself JT back then, my aunt didn’t want the Kirk name brought to Tarsus. That’s why she moved there in the first place.”

Bones picked Velma off the floor and allowed her to rest in his arms, “you going to be okay, sugar?” she asked in her thick accent. She didn’t hide it like Bones, and everytime she spoke he couldn’t help but smile. She was standoffish to people she didn’t know, but she spoke to Jim like he was Bones’ own family.

“I’ll be better when he’s off my ship,” flipping open his comm, “Kirk to bridge.”

“Bridge here,” Uhura replied swiftly.

“What’s our ETA?”

“There’s an ion storm in our usual path, sir,” Chekov chimed in, “we’re going to have to divert around it. Mr Scott has us ready to go at Warp Five, it’ll take about three days, sir.”

“Can we push it to six?”

There was a click as Scotty was added to the conversation, “nay sir. We’re due to pick up new couplings at Starbase Nineteen, we cannae risk blowing out our current ones otherwise we can’t top Warp 3. Better safe than sorry, I ‘spose.”

“Tell Starfleet the ETA and get us in Warp. I’ll be on the bridge soon.” Clicking it shut Jim sighed and rubbed at his eyes.

“What’s eatin’ you honey?” Velma asked from Bones’ arms.

“Apart from the genocidal maniac on my ship?” Jim continued to rub at his eyes, “I think…. Can daemons last without humans?”

“It’s not a studied subject, no-one is thought to have done Intercision since the Catholic church hundreds of years ago,” Bones absently rubbed Velma’s fur, “they don’t need to eat and its said witches daemons can stay away for years.”

“But…” Jim added in for him.

“The fire at the governor’s place, Jimbo…”

“But Kodos survived,” the ideas that had been bouncing through his head filled the gap between them.

“You said Starfleet beamed out all the life signs in the building after the fire…If they didn’t pick up her signal….”

“You’re right,” Jim huffed, pushing back his shoulders and straightening his posture. He jumped in surprise however when Velma suddenly jumped from Bones’ arms into his own. Both he and Bones stared at each other as Jim held his soul in his hands. Her fur was coarse but not uncomfortably so against his palms.

“You got something to tell me, Bones?" only people in love touched each-others daemons.

Bones raised an eyebrow, “don’t get any ideas, lover-boy,” Bones glared down at the badger, “your momma raised you better than that. Hell you didn’t even do that with Jocelyn!”

“I didn’t like Jocelyn,” Velma sounded smug, “and Jim needs someone right now and you sure as hell weren’t going to hug him.”

“Come here,” Bones scooped her out of Jim’s arms and for a moment he missed the warmth, until Bones embraced him quick and tight, “you come straight down to medical if you start stressing, you hear?”

“Sir yes sir,”

“Don’t be a little shit,”

* * *

 

It’s gamma shift when his comm beeps angrily at him from his bedside table. Hand scrambling across the surface he opened the device and pressed it to his ear, not opening his eyes.

“Kirk,” he grunted.

“Samson, sir,” the person said, “I’m in charge of Gamma surveillance of the prisoner.”

“Is there a problem, Samson?”

“Kodos is adamant that he must talk to you,” Samson sounded as though he hadn’t wanted to call, but Kodos could be very persuasive, “has been asking since the start of shift.”

Cracking open his eyes Jim glanced at the clock—an hour until Alpha.

“Mute the cell,” was Jim’s response as he sat up. He wasn’t going to sleep anyway.

“Yessir,” Samson responded dutifully, “sorry for waking you.”

“Its fine, Samson. Keep up the good work,”

He ate and showered early, heading up to the bridge to watch over the end of Gamma, eyeing the warp screen with pretend interest. As the rest of Alpha crew shuffled in he was surprised to find Olujimi perching on the chair near his shoulder.

“Why hello,” Kirk grinned up at the hummingbird, “am I finally deserving enough to be graced with your presence?”

From her station Uhura let out a little laugh.

“Don’t flatter yourself,” the hummingbird would have rolled his eyes if he could, “Sulu thinks that Yuki is faster than I am. I’m observing the enemy before I attack.”

“No daemon fighting it permitted on the ship,” Jim said mockingly.

“It’s only a fight if the opponent actually offers a challenge,” as if sensing their conversation Sulu turned around before glaring at his dragonfly.

“Yuki, stop challenging everyone!”

Jim couldn’t hear the response but Chekov’s daemon let out a hearty laugh.

“Sir….” Olujimi’s voice was lower and when Jim flickered a glance over his shoulder he saw Uhura giving him a pointed look, “Kodos has been requesting to see you since shift started.”

“And all through Gamma. I told them to mute the cell,” he muttered low enough for only Olujimi to hear.

Uhura turned back to her station but he knew she was listening. Olujimi’s next statement was laced with a confused tone, “he’s saying that he can tell you what happened to Augustine.”

He was glad Uhura wasn’t facing him and that Olujimi couldn’t see his face because he had no doubt it would look like he sucked on a sour lemon, “maybe he’s gone mad in his age. Mute the cell.”

“Aye, sir,” Olujimi flew off the shoulder of the seat back to Uhura.

It’s halfway through Gamma and he’s given up on sleeping. He can’t stop thinking about what Kodos knows—about that voice he had heard on Tarsus. So, he slips into a faded _Starfleet Combat Team_ sweatshirt, throws on some shoes and makes a cup of coffee before heading down to the brig. The guards stationed there stand to attention, and Jim realised in hindsight it would have been better to wear his uniform. But it would mean nothing to Kodos—he’d take it as a form of asserting dominance.

Inside there were two more guards, Samson and Richardson if he remembered correctly. They stood up at his entrance, but thankfully they didn’t question the outfit. It was uncommon for Jim to run the halls during Gamma when he couldn’t sleep, and these guys had been with him from the first time they shipped out of space dock.

“Go and get some coffees, guys,” their daemons (a robin and crow) fluttered nervously above them, “I’ll be fine.”

“If you’re certain, sir,” Samson said before departing.

Jim took his time approaching the controls. Punching in his override he unmuted the cells and upped the lights, not surprised at all to find Kodos awake and waiting, his daemon curled by his side.

“I see you finally got my messages,” Kodos sounded almost _disappointed_ in him.

“I’m a busy man,” Jim tried to push a level of innocence into his voice, “so tell me what you have to say about Tino so I can get back to work.”

Kodos daemon—Juliet—raised her head and hissed. Kodos shushed her gently, “if I am going to die-“

“The Federation doesn’t use the death penalty,”

“But if they put me in general population, I’m as good as dead,” Kodos countered smoothly, “but as I was saying, James-“Jim sipped from his cup to stop himself from snarling, “-if I am going to die I want to do that with a clean conscious.”

“You murdered four thousand people and committed illegal research on others, you’ll never be free of guilt,” the cup was burning his hand but he didn’t care, “so cut the crap. It’s no accident Tommy found you, you would know he was on Planet Q, you were performing at his house. You wanted to be found, and I wouldn’t say its luck that you ended up on _this_ ship seeing as Tom clearly knows who I am.”

He set the cup down, “so you want something that you couldn’t get on the run. So out with it before I walk out and the last thing I do is watch you get carted away by ‘Fleet security.”

“Still as sharp as ever,” Juliette hissed at him.

“You’re right, I do want something from you,” Kodos stepped closer to the glass and Jim resisted the urge to step back, “I want to know why you survived.”

He clenched his open hand so he didn’t punch anything, “survived Intercision?”

“My whole life’s work was focused on Daemons. After the ‘Fleet came I tried to start anew, as an actor, I have a daughter,” Kodos paced, “but I couldn’t get it out of my head. You survived! No one ever survived, so why you?”

“You’re sick in the head. You turned yourself in, facing a life in prison, to find out the results of _an illegal experiment on a minor?_ ” in his anger he dropped his cup, the replicated china crashing into the floor. Security was in the room within a moment, phasers raised.

“Stand-down,” Jim muttered tiredly, “dropped my cup. We’re fine.”

“Yessir,” they lowered their phasers and exited warily.

“You were a breakthrough in over forty years of research….I can’t just let that go,”

Jim kicked the mess on the floor, “well I’ll guess you’ll never get to find out. Enjoy your time in general population.”

He went to mute the cell but Kodos nearly shouted, “I can tell you about Augustine.”

“Her name is Tino and she’s _gone_ ,” muting the cell he stormed out, offering an apology to the guards before walking down the hall, body vibrating with anger. Walking up to the bridge he waved down the navigating ensign who moved to announce his presence.

“Sir,” Lt Commander Henley stood, “is everything alright?”

“Send a broadcast to command that Kodos has an unnamed daughter somewhere, probably in relation to that acting troupe he was in,” the bridge was silent as he spoke, “that’s all.”

In his quarters he kicked off his shoes and fell onto the bed. The hole in his chest was aching and he clawed at it, burying his face into the pillows as he tried to hold back the tears that threatened to overflow. Taking the deepest, stuttering breaths he could muster he sat up, removed his sweatshirt and went back beneath the blankets to enter a fitful sleep.

The sleep didn’t last long. He awoke to Spock calling his name, and he shot awake, ready for a fight.

“Jim,” Spock was dressed in the closest he had to civvies (which was just a black shirt and pants), “Kodos has been shot.”

“What?” Jim pushed himself out of bed, grabbing the first shirt he could find ( a tank top that should have been washed _weeks_ ago, but he’d been busy, okay?), “walk with me.”

It was more of a light jog, but Spock didn’t complain, “A security ensign came into the room saying he had been rostered on as extra security by yourself and had your override to prove it. He then placed the room into lockdown and proceeded to stun the present security guards. His phaser was low on charge by the time he managed to fire at Kodos, but Nurse Chapel says the damage to his heart is irreversible.”

“How long?” he changed paths to medical.

“Ten minutes,”

“Shit,” medical was lit up as they entered. Bones was by a bio-bed, cursing up a storm as Velma skittered around, handing him the needed hydrosprays.

“BP dropping,” Bones muttered as Chapel did manual compressions. Juliette was mewing loudly, almost sounding close to human wailing, “Why isn’t he reacting to the medicine damnit! He shouldn’t have arrhythmia.”

Chapel looked at the readings, “there’s a shadow on his heart, Doctor.”

“Shit on a stick,” Bones paused his administrations, “he has a heart condition.”

“ARVC,” Chapel murmured as she conditioned the compressions.

“…James…” it was barely heard above the chatter and the noise Juliette was making. Jim walked forward as if in a dream, staying out of Bones’ way as he struggled to keep Kodos alive, “James….” Chapels compressions were altering his words, “…she’s….alive….she….Augustine…”

“He’s flat-lining,” Bones gripped the edge of the bed as the machine screamed at him and there was a flash of gold as Juliette disappeared into dust that shimmered under the lights, “time of death 0348, record it for me, would you Chapel and pass it onto command. Not his pre-existing condition.”

“Aye, sir,” Chapel placed a sheet over the body with practiced indifference.

Jim refused to meet Bones eyes as he turned to face Spock, “who did it?”

Spock looked down at his PADD, “Kevin McManus, assigned originally to engineering,” Spock glanced up, “he recently completed scheduled repairs on the comm-panel in your quarters.”

“Shit, that’s how he got my access code,” Running a hand through his hair, “he in the brig?”

“Yes,”

“Jim-“

“Bones, not now,”

Ignoring the indignant huff from Bones he walked with Spock towards the brig. The science officer was still glancing at his PADD, and his eyebrow rose in consideration.

“What is it?” the turbolift opened its doors for them.

“Security has just forwarded Mr McManus’ Starfleet records,” Spock spoke in an even voice, “before being assigned to the Enterprise he legally changed his last name to McManus.”

“Why, what was it before?”

“Kevin Riley,”

Jim punched the wall of the lift. Something must’ve given way because fire race up his hand, and he shook it with a wince, ignoring Spock’s obvious disapproval, “he’s one of the nine—one of the nine people who know what Kodos looks like. He must’ve changed his name to stop me from noticing him. Shit!”

“With a crew of this size it is illogical to presume you could meet and remember everyone-“

“I should have known it was him, Spock. Illogical or not,”

Spock stopped the turbolift, “I believe it best if you relieved yourself at this point, Captain.”

“I’m fine, Commander,” Jim countered.

“You are evidently not,” Spock widened his stance, “I will not log your removal, but I insist you distance yourself and return to medical to receive treatment for you injury.”

“Commander,”

“Captain,”

Jim restarted the lift, “fine,” he tried to cross his arms but received nothing but pain, “but I am on alpha shift and this isn’t logged.”

“What isn’t logged, Captain?” Spock asked far too innocently.

 

* * *

 

In the morning he was giving a thorough talking down by Admiral Komack that he took with his usual snark as he hid his injured wrist behind his back. Instead of handing over Kodos they transferred Kevin (Jim couldn’t bear to see him. He couldn’t handle that right now) and the body of a man no one wanted now that he was dead.

“Go back to your original mission parameters and I don’t want to see a toe out of line, Captain,” Komack ended the call without waiting for his response.

Rubbing at his tired face he went onto the bridge and sat down, looking at the new flight plan with confusion.

“Why do we pass by Tarsus? We cut days off by going through the Delphi system,” Jim raised an eyebrow at his navigator.

“There appears to be an ion storm in the Delphi system,” Sulu supplied as his daemon flew around nervously.

“We scanned it two days ago, it was clear,” Jim countered.

Spock answered instead of Sulu, “we need to consider the crews safety, Captain. If Mr Sulu believes that we may be jeopardised going through this system, than I believe it best to follow his sound advice.”

Jim raised his eyebrows, looking between the two, “really? How fascinating,” he spun to look at Uhura, who was petting Olujimi’s feathers, “and what does Starbase Nineteens sector reports show of this storm?”

“They tell us to shut-up and listen to the crew,” the bird retorted sharply and Jim sent Uhura a pointed look, “McCoy’s orders as well.”

“Alright then,”

* * *

* * *

 

Scotty informs him on the morning they’re due to pass Tarsus that he needs to stop to install the new couplings, and surprise surprise, Tarsus is the closest planet they geo-sync their orbit to. McCoy all but drags him off the bridge, and Jim didn’t survive this long by being an idiot.

“I’m not going down there, Bones,” he ground his heels in outside the transporter room, “she’s gone.”

“In all my years I’ve learnt to take the last words of men very seriously,” he opened the door and Velma nipped at this ankles until he began to walk forward.

“And what if she’s not there. I sick of getting my hopes up to have them hit back down.”

Scotty gave a nervous wave from the station.

“Working hard installing those couplings, Mr Scott?” Jim asks as he watched his firefly circle above Scotty.

“I’ve got my best workers on it,” Scotty replied, “and we’re all fired up and ready to go at your command, Doctor.”

“You know, I must have dreamt that I was Captain of this ship, because no-one here is listening,” he was forced onto the transporter, “what do they call that again? Oh yeah, mutiny!”

“Shut up, energise Mr Scott,”

They made their way out of the dusty town towards his aunt’s old farmstead. The sun was beating down mercilessly and Jim quickly stripped off his shirts, tied the undershirt around his waist, and put the gold command tunic back on to keep cool. Velma sniffed around them, staying silent as they walked.

“There it is,” the crumbling remains of the farmstead yielded nothing, and Jim sat down on a rocky outcrop on the border of the property and drunk heavily from his canteen. Bones took a swig from his own and sat down next to Jim to wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The sun was dipping towards the horizon and Jim felt Bones rub at his backside from the stiffness of the rock. Jim sent him an ‘I told you so’ look, but paused as he felt the wind shift to blow on the back of his neck. Hair sticking up on edge he stood, wary. The wind was whistling, and he could almost make out words.

“Can you hear that?” Jim asked as he watched McCoy stand. His heard was thrumming against his face furiously, nervous and apprehensive.

“It sounds like your name,” Bones clapped him on the shoulder.

“It’s not possible,” he told himself softly.

“Jim, you’ve literally come back from the dead. Nothing about you is possible,” Jim could see it in the distance now, something moving fast, almost the same colour as the dusty landscape, “it’s her.”

“Tino,” Jim breathed, suddenly light headed as he watched the animal approach.

The moment he saw her closer he knew it was her. It was like those who said they’d lose a child as a toddler and see them as an adult and just _know._ It was her, with a coat of dirty blonde, a body of lean muscle and the length of a human. A cougar—she’d settled as a cougar (it did run in the family, he realised idly).

Her form slammed into his, knocking him to the ground and the breath from his lungs. She was licking his face, repeating his name, paws on either side of his head. His arms wrapped around her and his hands buried in her dusty fur, brushing against a spot of smooth skin (a burn, he’d realise later, from the explosion).

“Tino,” he was crying but he didn’t care, “you’re alive.”

“Jim,” she move to lay next to him, paw on his chest as if feeling his heartbeat, “I knew you’d come.”

* * *

 

He knew they hadn’t rejoined, but there was a warmth in his chest that wasn’t there before. He walked to halls with her by his side, the burn along her flank a testament to her survival. They whispered down the halls about them, about how they were practically witches, able to spread forever.

“Over a decade apart,” they’d whisper, “they’re insane.”

“It wasn’t as if it was by choice,” others would whisper, “poor Kirk.”

When they return to Earth five years later his mother is waiting with the press. He embraces her as Cato picks up Tino, the cougar purring. The newspaper runs the story for over a month, the image in every form of press—they call them strong and brave, true heroes, but he couldn’t care less what they think, but the headlines read;

_The Kirk Legacy Lives On_

 


End file.
